


It Takes A Village

by MlleMusketeer



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Transformer Sparklings, Unplanned Pregnancy, frank discussion of Megatron's shitty past, the entire lost light crew is too helpful by FAR
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-23 09:36:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23009446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MlleMusketeer/pseuds/MlleMusketeer
Summary: What happens when one of your captains knocks the other captain up?Lots and lots of opportunities to help out, of course. The Lost Light is one big family, after all.Megatron and Rodimus aren't 100% sure how they feel about this.
Relationships: Megatron/Rodimus | Rodimus Prime
Comments: 36
Kudos: 206





	1. Chapter 1

The expression on Ratchet's face made Megatron, a mech thoroughly accustomed to killing anyone he thought needed killing, start contemplating the strategic virtues of hiding under the exam table.

"All right," said Ratchet. "You know how when you filled out the intake form, you declined to list any information about current or previous sexual activity, and glared at First Aid until he ran away when he hinted that it might be useful information for your health? Yeah. We're gonna need to revisit that."

Megatron did remember that. He also remembered thinking that if he tested negative for everything, whose business was it? Besides, he hadn't had a partner in the last six million years, at that point.

That had changed, but…

Ratchet was just looking at him, frowning, and then sighed and handed a datapad over. Megatron took it and looked at it reflexively, not really reading it.

"It means you're sparked," said Ratchet bluntly, "and we need to have some frank conversations about your sexual health."

"Oh," said Megatron, and was pretty sure he'd never want to admit to the expression currently on his face because Ratchet stared at him a few moments before his shoulders slumped and his expression softened.

"It's not an interrogation," he said and then watched Megatron a little longer. Megatron had no idea what the mech was seeing in his face, and started wishing it were nothing. Ratchet sighed again. "First of all, was the sparking intentional or…"

Megatron felt his entire face flare with heat. "Accidental," he managed, "but consensual."

"All right. And what methods of protection have you been using with your partner or partners?"

He was Megatron. He would not be intimidated by a medic. He looked up and met Ratchet's optics. "Monogamy and regular testing for both of us."

Ratchet nodded. "Yes. I noticed you included that as part of your physicals. How about to prevent sparking?"

"Not sparkmerging and fragging at the same time," said Megatron. "Spark shields if we—oh."

Ratchet, noting it down, glanced up. "Oh?"

Megatron scraped a palm over his face. "We forgot the sparkshield last week," he said, and really, really hoped his utter mortification didn't show in his voice. Where was he supposed to go from there? He and Rodimus had been behaving like a couple of mecha with new interface protocols since they'd arrived in the new universe, but both of them were too old—even if Rodimus liked acting like a feckless human teenager—to forget something _that basic._

"It happens," said Ratchet, sympathetically. Megatron fixed him with a suspicious eye and he shrugged.

"Why are you being so understanding about this?"

"Professional pride. And I've been where you are now." Ratchet gave him another one of those professional, sympathetic looks, and Megatron went from mortified to wanting to rip his head off his shoulders, which admittedly wasn't an extensive emotional distance to travel. "Any previous medical history that could complicate termination, gestation, or delivery that you know of?"

"You mean besides being repeatedly reframed?" growled Megatron. "Or Optimus dropping a city block on me? Or a constructed cold body and a Forged spark?" The last was a sore point; the crew now all knew, so it was unavoidable, but Megatron hated them knowing.

"Yes, besides that," said Ratchet. He waited, stylus posed, and Megatron wondered if the mech knew how grating his assumed professionality was, given his usual personality, and if that was why he was doing it. "Could you just get back to being _yourself_?"

"The medical board apparently frowns on actually beating your patients with a wrench but I can find a small one if you'd like," said Ratchet, sighed, and put the datapad aside. "All right. So you've got yourself in the family way."

Megatron stared at him blankly.

"Human term," said Ratchet, flapping a hand. "You're not still at risk of a well-deserved execution, so you actually get a choice about this. Do you want to keep it or not?"

"How long do I get to consider it?" asked Megatron.

"About another three weeks," said Ratchet. "Then the spark will descend into the protoform, which makes the procedure messier, both practically and ethically. Will you want your partner to be part of that decision-making process, and would you rather I talk to them or that you do?"

"I don't know, how likely do you think Rodimus is to launch himself out an airlock at the first whiff of actual responsibility? To _me?”_

Ratchet blinked at him. Then burst out laughing. "You mean to tell me you fragged Rodimus _'knocked up an entire moon by stepping on it'_ Prime _and you two forgot the spark shield_?"

"That would be accurate, yes."

Pause.

"Wow," said Ratchet, shaking his head. "All right. First things first, I think the odds of Rodimus actually launching himself out an airlock because he got you pregnant are quite low. He has a weird way of seeking out responsibility while swearing up down and sideways he doesn't want it. I don't know a lot more about your relationship but I think he'd be open to talking it over, if that's what you wanted.

"But something else you'll have to factor in that you wouldn't usually—we're in a new universe, Megatron. If something goes wrong that we can't fix here," he gestured to the medbay in general, "or if the sparkling has medical needs that we can't supply here, there won't be any hospitals we can stop by, nor any ports that will carry the needed parts. Don't get me wrong, we can do a lot here. But that extra margin of safety won't be present. Granted, you won't have as many people actually trying to kill you, so it balances out."

He stood up. "How about you take some time to think it over, or talk it over, if you're on the fence, and then let me know what you've decided sometime in the next week or so."

Megatron just nodded.

And because Ratchet couldn't leave well enough alone…

"And have some homework, so you know what you're getting yourself into."

Megatron sighed, looking at the stack of datapads Ratchet had just handed him. At least the mech wasn't just telling him to _have the kid, it'll be fine, it's what Primus would want you to do,_ which had been the bulk of the lectures he'd heard about unplanned carrying in the past. "Thank you."

* * *

Megatron saw no reason to dissemble. He looked up at Rodimus as the other mech came in and said, "We forgot the spark shield."

"When did we—" started Rodimus, obviously looking through his databanks, and then froze in the act of reaching for a container of rust sticks Megatron had intentionally put out of his reach (Rodimus went through them so fast, and he wanted at least a _few_ for himself, dammit, and while Brainstorm and Perceptor had taught Swerve how to make them, demand was high). "Waitaminute, you saw Ratchet today."

Megatron glanced down at the datapad. Up over the edge of it. Cocked an optic ridge. If he'd been as confident as he hoped he sounded, he would have put the datapad down, but as it was, it was something to fidget with. "Yes," he said, and then, before he did give into the temptation to avoid the conversation, said, "Apparently I'm carrying."

"Oh," said Rodimus. "Oh slag."

They stared at each other. Rodimus's spoiler twitched with anxiety. "Um. So, you wanna talk about it?" He glanced up at the rust sticks, then, decisive, pulled over a chair, used it to climb up to the counter, grab the rust sticks, hopped down and handed the whole box to Megatron.

Then he made what Megatron believed humans called "puppy dog eyes" at the box as he flopped down next to Megatron and snuggled in. After a few moments, he reached out and stole one anyway. Stuffed it in his intake quickly, as if he, too, were looking for something to do with his hands.

"So um. How do you wanna talk about this? Because the way I see it, you're pretty much in the pilot's seat on this one. Like we're together," his optics flicked down to Megatron's midsection, as if he expected to see something there already, "but it is _your_ body."

Megatron sighed and took a rust stick before Rodimus ate all of them anyway. He set the datapad aside and fiddled with it. "I'd appreciate your thoughts," he said aloud.

He was…undecided.

In the past, the decision would have been made for him. Before the war, a medical termination wouldn't have been possible. He would have had to pay a lot of money that he didn't have, and even if he'd managed that, it would have been a lot of invasive questions and exams and lots of promises, immediately broken, of assistance if he'd had it. And if he had, it would have destroyed his tenuous hold on a living, disqualified him from working in the mines and forced him into the underworld. Could he have still prevailed in the pit fights? Maybe, but it would have been far harder with a sparkling in tow, especially if he'd meant to protect it from the many varieties of predator that stalked the slums.

He probably would have seen an illegitimate practitioner and hoped he'd survive the procedure, or whoever picked him up took him to a clinic that wouldn't report him for a suspected abortion.

During the war, it would have been out of the question. He had an army to run, a universe to reshape. Even if he'd wanted a sparkling, which he hadn't, it would have been an unforgivable indulgence.

And on the Lost Light, before they'd fled to this universe, it would have been equally unthinkable. He'd known he was going to his death one way or another.

But right now, with the option truly open to him, he was undecided.

"It's not like any of us had the chance before," Rodimus offered, almost shyly. "I mean, there was the war, and slag happened. Lots of slag happened. If you don't want to, Ratchet will definitely help you and he won't judge, believe me. And if he didn't tell you flat out it was a bad idea, it's not a bad idea, because he definitely would have told you."

"He said that if there are complications, our resources are limited," Megatron said.

"Yeah, tell me something I don't know. That's not _it's a bad idea._ " Rodimus snuggled closer, the points of his armor scraping lightly against Megatron's, a small strong frame against his side. "But, as I said, it's for sure your choice." He stole another rust stick.

"Do you want…" Megatron said, slowly, because Rodimus's words seemed to lean all in one direction.

Rodimus thought about it, spoiler flickering and a frown denting the metal between his optics. "I mean…"

He looked down, scuffing a foot against the floor. "I mean, it's an accident, and we were surprised about it but— _yeah._ Yes. Definitely. Because all the time before this, we thought we didn't have a future. And now we do actually have a future. And you could say we've already got a whole entire ship full of sparklings to babysit, hell you could probably argue you've got the whole ship full of sparklings and _me_ ," he tilted a dazzling, sparkmelting grin up at Megatron, just to show the self-deprecation was joking, not real, "and I feel like, why the slag not? Why not have everything we couldn't, back there? Also any kid from the two of us is going to be awesome, and you know it."

Megatron felt a smile tug at the edge of his intake. "And if there are complications?"

"Pfft. We've pulled off bigger miracles." Rodimus tried to work an arm between Megatron's back and the couch. It didn't reach all the way around Megatron's back, but the sentiment was appreciated. "I'm down for it. The whole shebang. The recharge deprivation and the 2am filter changes and you eating all the rust sticks in the hab suite. And having to see Ratchet pretty much every day. And not being clean again for the next century at least. And not being able to swear around the bitlet for three times that. All of it." He paused, mid-rush of words, and looked up at Megatron again, reset his vocalizer. "But um. What do you think?"

Megatron hesitated. He looked down at himself.

He felt none of the spark-deep panic he'd imagined feeling when he was much younger and imagining something like this happening, but that was probably because the fears he'd spent his youth with weren't relevant. He'd certainly felt a jolt of panic when Ratchet had told him, but it had faded. He wasn't sure he'd decided anything yet. He'd never even considered the possibility of being able to safely carry a sparkling. Or raise one. With a trusted partner to help.

It seemed…possible. Attractive, even.

"Frag, I'm sorry, if you don't—Primus, the last thing I want to do is pressure you."

"I think I like the idea," Megatron admitted.

Rodimus let out a huge breath. "Like—like _like_ the idea like the idea or like, like the idea as in you don't want to crawl out of your own plating like the idea or like the idea as in you really want to have a bitlet?"

Megatron tilted a mock frown at him. "As in, my conjunx ought to work on his grammar, because if we go through with this, I don't want him confusing the sparkling while their language centers are developing."

Rodimus perked up. Megatron held up a hand. "I want to read through all the materials Ratchet gave us," he said. "I…don't know if I can make this decision in a single conversation but I do like the idea. As you said, it's not an option we've had before. But I want to make sure I'm fully informed."

Rodimus nodded. "Gimme some, I want to help."

Megatron handed them over. "If you doodle on them…"

"I am a mature possible parent. I will not doodle," Rodimus promised, grabbed another three rust sticks, and got to reading.

* * *

The decision wasn't made in a single conversation, but a few days later Megatron stopped by the medical bay and stopped by Ratchet's desk. He was looming, because he was pensive, and he'd been bad at not looming for several million years.

Ratchet sat back in his chair and looked up at Megatron, totally unimpressed. "Need to discuss this privately?"

Megatron nodded. Ratchet climbed to his feet and led the way into one of the exam rooms. "All right. What do you need to ask?"

Megatron leaned against the exam berth awkwardly, swallowed and said, "I would like to keep the sparkling."

"All right," said Ratchet. "I take it you did your reading? Of course you did, unlike other members of this crew I could name. Any questions about it?"

"No," said Megatron. "Or, not yet. It was very thorough, and I appreciated the statistics."

"Good," said Ratchet. "Any preference on who you want your primary physician to be?" He leveled a warning frown at the other mech. "Whoever it is will spend a lot of time with your array in the most unarousing way possible. And will probably be doing some extremely uncomfortable things to you, so picking someone you aren't actually going to rip asunder for that job is a good idea."

"You," said Megatron. "You're least likely to lie to me."

"Item one, work on trust of the medical establishment," said Ratchet, pretending to write it down on a datapad. "I'm not going to lie to you, Megatron. Not even if you're actively on your way out. I'm not an idiot."

"It's appreciated," said Megatron. "What are our next objectives?"

Ratchet looked up at him from under his chevron. "Usually I'd tell a patient that they don't need to act like this is a battle, but if it means you actually follow medical directions…"

"I know when to listen to an expert in the field," said Megatron.

"That attitude," Ratchet said, pointing his stylus at Megatron. "Keep it. Anyway, it's going to be a bit before we know what size the sparkling will be. Given that your partner is significantly smaller than you, that's probably not going to be a major issue, and you'll probably be relatively comfortable. Relatively. There's a reason cold-constructing mecha is popular."

"I'm not concerned about discomfort."

"Yah-huh," said Ratchet. "Here's what to program the energon dispenser for. Fuel as much as you want, when you want, and make sure you're getting at least these quantities of these minerals daily. I'm putting you on the schedule for day after tomorrow to do the first of your nasty invasive appointments. Feel free to bring Rodimus along if you need someone's hand to crush. Here's my priority comm. Don't hesitate to call it." He handed Megatron yet another datapad. "And relax. You're in a good place for this. Also if you're going to get any fuel sensitivities, they'll pop up in the next week or so. Which is a nice way of saying that if you start purging like mad, that's normal and we have anti-nausea meds for that, and you should _call me_ , because I am _not_ handing out prizes for stoicism on this one, got it?"

"I understand," said Megatron, wondering privately what Ratchet meant by stoicism.


	2. Chapter 2

Rodimus stopped in the doorway and sighed.

The huddled figure under the colorful tarps on the berth groaned in an inquiring way. Then it retched, somehow also making that sound inquiring.

"I’m calling Ratchet."

"I _used_ his anti-nausea patch," said Megatron, making it sound like a great betrayal of the universe.

"Yeah, that's my point," said Rodimus. "You definitely should not still be barfing. I've had those before and they _should_ knock you on your ass but in a good, non-barfy way."

"I'm not 'barfing'," said Megatron, somehow managing to pronounce the quotation marks even while miserable. "I'm dry-heaving. I finished 'barfing' several hours ago."

"Semantics!" said Rodimus, which made a pair of red optics rise from under the blankets and blink at him, bemused.

"Yes, I have a vocabulary, and I'm calling Ratchet."

The retching was argumentative this time. Rodimus called Ratchet anyway. "Yeah, the patch isn't working. And I think he's convinced it's a personal failing and you can't do anything about it so you should just…come prove him wrong."

"I told him not to be stoic," grumbled Ratchet. "On my way."

While they waited for Ratchet to get there, Rodimus went to Megatron and sat on the berth next to him.

Megatron just groaned.

Rodimus carefully smoothed a hand over what he was guessing was a shoulder under the blanket. "Sorry buddy, guess you're just special. Ratchet'll be here soon."

"Buddy," echoed Megatron, looking at him with slitted optics.

"Yeah, you're my conjunx and my best buddy. That's what conjunx means," said Rodimus. Megatron humphed and then just sort of leaned on him, which he did a lot; his version of cuddling, which he was still pretty new to. Rodimus sat there and petted him and made sympathetic noises whenever he retched, until Ratchet showed up and shooed him away so he could plug in and take a look at Megatron's code himself.

"You could get him some more tarps and a heating pad," Ratchet added, once Rodimus was up. "Cube of the plainest midgrade that dispenser has, too. Anything gelled that will melt slow is even better. C'mon kiddo, let's take a look at what your system thinks it's doing."

"Mmmghf," said Megatron, protesting.

"Yeah yeah, I know, it's rude. But stopping the misbehaving code tree is the first step in getting you back to being able to fuel. Let's see… Oh. That explains it."

"Mmmph?"

"So I'm trying to fix this now, but it might just be a temporary patch and I'll have to renew it because the subroutines in this are so strongly conserved. Basically, you got exposed to some real nasty slag when you were young that was toxic in very small concentrations, so your system learned to be hypervigilant. That gets cranked up to eleven when you're carrying, so even ship-filtered energon is tripping the alarms. And since a frame always has a 'better safe than sorry' attitude when it comes to sparkling fuel, out the hatch it goes."

There was a sharp vent of relief.

"I've manually reset your levels. Call me as soon as you get nauseated again, got it? And if your tank is being so picky, we might have to discuss alternate ways to get your supplements."

"Extra fragging?" said Megatron, sounding exhausted and amused at the same time.

"Amazingly enough, it helps," said Ratchet.

Rodimus, rattling around the energon dispenser, felt himself blush to the tips of his audials.

Which was when the doorchime sounded and the door opened, without any further permission. Rodimus looked up. There stood Ultra Magnus, already partway into the door, looking extremely worried.

"Rodimus," he said. "Where's Megatron?"

"In there?" said Rodimus. "Um, barging into habsuites isn't your style, Mags. What gives?"

"Megatron's three hours late to his duty cycle, and he's not responding to comms," said Ultra Magnus, trying to surreptitiously peer around Rodimus. "I was worried. It's not his usual pattern."

Rodimus stepped in front of him. Megatron would not appreciate being seen in his current state. "And you didn't comm me? You know we're conjunxes."

"I…felt it would be inappropriate. Where is he?"

"In berth. He's um, indisposed."

"Indisposed?" repeated Magnus. "What's wrong? Is he seriously ill?" His optics flickered, and after a moment Rodimus realized that Magnus must be running through the circumstances that would cause Megatron to actually miss a duty shift, especially since they'd all seen him get back up and go back to fighting a few hours after receiving a double-fusion canon blast to the chest. He started toward Rodimus.

"Woah woah woah." Rodimus raised both hands. "No, not like that, he's—he's okay, it's just, he's carrying, and he's got some pretty bad fuel sensitivity, and it's just—not a good morning, all right?"

Magnus stopped dead and turned to look at him. "Megatron is _what?_ "

"Oh shit," said Rodimus, looking up at him and feeling like a shuttle in the path of a worldsweeper. A worldsweeper with guns glowing. "Did he not… tell you?"

"No."

Rodimus looked away. "Um. I thought he told you. Because it's really not my place—it's his frame! And I thought he told you."

"He did not tell me," Ultra Magnus repeated. Rodimus saw hurt on his face and gulped. "Congratulations. Were you… planning this for some time?"

"No. It was um. Unexpected."

And that completely distracted Ultra Magnus from his funk, which was sort of good, and also really not good because Rodimus had a completely involuntary memory of one of the most embarrassing hours of his life, Ultra Magnus giving all the Wreckers and anyone else who hadn't run away fast enough, The Talk, with complete sincerity and total refusal to use anything but the baldest, most technical language that made fragging sound like assembling—not even a rifle or anything, like a really boring cabinet.

Combined with taking an exam or something.

Ultra Magnus's face was setting in lines of stern disapproval. "Do you know what the change in Wrecker unintended pregnancies was before I took a role as commander as versus after?" he asked, deceptively level.

"Um," said Rodimus.

"It dropped by 67%," Magnus told him. "I was informed that part of that was due to me allowing Whirl to make up a dubiously rhyming slogan. _I allowed Whirl to make up a slogan, Rodimus._ "

"Yes. I um. That must have been a sacrifice?"

"Do you _remember_ the slogan, Rodimus Prime?" The "Prime" wasn't an honorific. It was more like someone using your full name. Rodimus squinched his optics shut and hunched his shoulders.

"It was _wrap it before you tap it,_ Rodimus," said Ultra Magnus, deeply disappointed, Optimus levels of disappointed. "It was meant to be catchy."

"Believe me," said Rodimus, "this really, really wasn't because of a lack of responsible sex education, Magnus, it was just—we were tired, and excited and just—fragged up, okay? And we're not like, unhappy with the outcome so, it's all right."

From inside the room came another spate of retching and Ratchet's puzzled, "Hm."

"Hm?" said Megatron, sounding exhausted and outraged at the same time. "You're the doctor, you should _know._ "

"Yeah, yeah, there's something else going on as well. One moment…" A pause, and then, "Megatron of Tarn, why the frag is your pet black hole not mentioned in your medical records?"

"Watch your tone or I'll vomit on you."

"You're not vomiting, you're dry-heaving," Ratchet said. "But seriously, that's _important."_

"Because I was a prisoner at the time?" Megatron pointed out. "There wasn't exactly a lot of mutual trust floating around when we started out. Why would I tell you or First Aid about the black hole?"

"Because if you got knocked up, there's a chance of things getting lost in there." There was a clang—presumably Ratchet had prodded Megatron in the chestplates. "Also, have you ever been tested for allergies to—huh."

Megatron growled.

"Yeeeah, you didn't get tested for allergies to that particular patch substrate, did you," said Ratchet.

Rodimus turned to Ultra Magnus. "So, as you can see, we're all fine, you're going to be a godparent, now fuck off before my conjunx tears the arms off his attending physician." He gathered up the things Ratchet had told him to grab and retreated into the berthroom, leaving Ultra Magnus's startled, "Godparent?" floating behind him.


End file.
